Alistair Menzies, I was told, claimed some sort of kinship with the former Prime Minister, and there was a physical resemblance to back the claim. He had the same height and ponderous build and he wore the same kind of double-breasted suits. But his hair wasn’t as white and thick as old Bob’s nor his eyebrows as dark and dramatic, even though he apparently did all he could to get them that way. He was fiftyish and smoked thick cigars. He was a solicitor and he gave me my first job because someone told him I was fairly bright and inclined to be honest.

‘This will require some tact, Hardy,’ he said.

Which you prefer to hire rather than exercise yourself I thought. ‘I’m sorry,’ I said, ‘I’m going to have to call you something other than “Mr Menzies”. You understand why, don’t you?’

The bushy eyebrows moved but not with much dramatic effect-framing more of a puzzled frown than an imperious stare. ‘No, but I was warned you were impudent. I suggest you avoid calling me anything. Take care to avoid “mate”- I detest false egalitarianism.’

As an opening spar, that made us about equal. I was sitting in one of his leather chairs in his Martin Place office. He had the work to hand out and I welcomed it. I’d been ‘in business’ for a few weeks now but there hadn’t yet been a cent to deposit in the Cliff Hardy business account. I assumed a neutral expression while he took a puff on his cigar. ‘As I say, tact needed. You are familiar with the provisions of the Commonwealth Matrimonial Causes Act of 1959?’

‘As amended in 1965,’ I said.

‘Quite. This is a divorce case. Our client, Mrs Beatrice Meadowbank, is suing her husband, Charles. She requires evidence of adultery.’